Slocum and Pearl of the Rio Grande

by Jake Logan

  After she rose with some effort, she looked over at him. “You can warm yourself by this fire.”

  “Sï. Gracias.”

  With a nod, she vanished out the doorway, in her tightly bound old robe, her slippers softly slapping the tile floor. He unbuttoned his coat and removed it. The fireplace was too inviting. He crossed over and warmed his hands. When Perla cleared her throat behind him, he turned and nodded.

  “Good evening.”

  She nodded. “Is something wrong?”

  For a long moment, he looked at her. Her beauty roiled his guts. She was straight-backed, wrapped in a thick white robe, and her smooth coffee complexion shone under the light. But she hadn’t come down for his appraisal of her looks.

  “There have been some things changed in the past week. Both of the Booster brothers are dead. So that’s maybe the good news. Cal was shot over a week ago in Pagosa in an attempt to assassinate someone. Sims shot Rip and killed him at the ranch, by my information.”

  She stood a few feet away from him as the flames began to lick the wood. “Will Sims run things now?”

  “No, he’s a fugitive and on the run. I feared he might have come by here.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you to come and tell me this, but we have seen nothing of him.”

  “He’s here. I mean, I think he’s close by.”

  “You think we are in danger?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is little we can do until the sun comes up to check on this. Would you stay the night? It is late and I am certain you’re tired. You must have came a long way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Carla will show you to a room. In the morning, we can decide if he is around here. Thank you so much for coming, good night.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He watched her leave the room. It was cold outside, but nothing like the temperature of the room after she left. It was an ice cave.

  “Señor?” Carla asked from the doorway in a few minutes. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “The señora was concerned. The room for you is in the back.”

  He slipped on his coat and hat. “I must put my horse up after you show me the room.”

  “I understand. This way.”

  They went through the kitchen, which smelled of onions and peppers. She showed him the bedroom down the hall. It was small, but had a large bed rather then a cot. After she lit a candle, she took him to the back door giving him instructions about the stables, and said she would wait for his return to let him in and relock the door.

  He apologized to her for keeping her up and then he hurried off. His boot soles crunched the frosty ground. The yard dogs accompanied him leading the horse, and en route one of the big males stopped stiff-legged and growled in the night.

  What had he smelled or heard? Then they began to wag their tails again as if everything was all right, and they competed for his attention. The roan was put up in a stall and fed some hay. The barn was too dark to search for the grain. Slocum hurried back to the house.

  Carla let him in and then relocked the door. Without a word, she went off into the dark house.

  The bed was crisp and fresh when he turned back the cover. While he was at the corral putting up the roan, Carla had even kindled up the small fireplace. Feeling guilty, he climbed in under the covers. The bed was clean and he was about as bathless as an old hog. But his conscience didn’t keep him awake long. He soon fell asleep.

  The sound of help stirring in the kitchen nearby awoke him. He dressed and sat on the edge of the fine goose-down bed to pull on his boots. He scrubbed his beard stubble in his calloused hands.

  Maybe he’d misjudged something about the killer instinct in Sims. Why had the man left him alive? It made no sense. Sims came up to the line shack after May Booster like he thought she’d take up with him. Then, when she wouldn’t, he beat her up and left. Of course, the man must have realized the setup that protected them was based on the Boosters’ power and threat. When he shot Rip, he killed the source of that strength,

  Slocum wiggled his right heel down in the second boot, clapped on his hat to cover his mussed-up hair, and headed for the door.

  “Oh, good morning,” one of the women said as she discovered him coming into the bustling kitchen. A full-bodied woman with a touch of gray in her hair was busy stirring a pot on the stove.

  Eyes fluttered, hair was touched, and smiles were pasted on their curious faces, all with a large question written on their foreheads. Who was he?

  “Good morning,” he said. “My name’s Slocum.”

  They nodded. A short girl in her late teens shook her fine butt across the tile floor to bring him a cup of coffee.

  He thanked her and took a stool. The woman stirring the pot looked to be the boss.

  “Fix him some huevos,” she said, taking charge. “Nana, make him some tortillas.”

  He kept feeling the looks they stole to check him out. But the coffee was rich and smooth, and the shaking of their fannies to get the cooking going was interesting enough to admire.

  “I see you have found my kitchen,” Perla said, sweeping into the room. “Are they feeding you?”

  “It’s in the works,” he said, and rose.

  “Come. They can bring it in the dining room when it is ready.” She strode ahead of him. The fringe on the divided riding skirt swished around her boots, and he enjoyed the view of the shapely leather-encased derriere. Her back was erect, and he wondered where she had learned to stand so tall.

  She showed him the chair at the head of the table, and took the one on the right. A very proper seat for a visiting male. How polite of her, but she did few things wrong—just did everything stiffly. He considered her an iron rod.

  He tossed his hat on the floor and quickly turned back to face her. “Sorry I woke you up last night, but I feared—”

  “No need to apologize. I felt very safe last night. I am in your debt again, Slocum.”

  He shook his head. Her face, her mouth, and the movement of her hands entertained him. She could continue for hours. “No, but I want to be certain he doesn’t come here and try something.”

  “Did an archangel send you?” The corners of her mouth showed her mild teasing amusement.

  “Maybe—” The kitchen crew interrupted him and served them breakfast. They brought him some eggs and ham with frijoles and cheese and salsa burritos. They brought Perla two small cinnamon rolls. When the coffee cups were refilled, the crew retreated, and left Slocum and Perla alone in the sun-filled room.

  “You were saying?” she asked.

  “I don’t know any archangels.”

  “But you came to my rescue before.”

  “Perla, I just happened to be there.”

  “Since you are my guest, may I interest you in a bath, a shave, and even a haircut?”

  “It all sounds wonderful, but I’m not here to interfere.”

  Her brown eyes melted and she put her hand on his forearm. “Interfere with what? I am—I am so glad you’re here I could cry. I did wrong sending you away. You offered me your protection. I was so afraid for myself I couldn’t accept it. Now you have given me another chance.”

  “Chance?”

  Her fingers squeezed has arm. “Yes, if you will stay, I’ll accept your generous offer.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Now, we need to make arrangements.” She looked at him appraisingly. “Yes, I think my husband’s clothing would fit you. That doesn’t matter, does it? He of course is deceased.”

  “Won’t bother me a bit.”

  The woman in charge in the kitchen, Jolanda, cut his hair, to the critical comments of the four others. They looked closely at her work, some touching him and telling her what she should do. When she was finished, they filled a copper tub set up in his bedroom with buckets of steaming water, and demanded he throw all his clothing out in the hall. Then they laughed.

  There were fresh clothes laid on
the bed for him. He used the water till it turned tepid and let the pores soak. While the tub really was too small for him, he enjoyed the luxury of the moment. At last, he dried off and dressed, grateful for the fire in the hearth they’d built up for him.

  Jolanda had promised to shave him after his bath, so when he was dressed, he went back to the kitchen.

  Two of the girls giggled at the sight of him.

  Before he could ask the point of their joke, Jolanda cut in. “Oh, we thought you might have dissolved like soap in that water.”

  “Not this time.” They laughed.

  When his face was smooth-shaven and tight from the alcohol aftershave she’d applied, he found Perla in the office working on her books. She set down her pen and twisted around in the swivel chair to look him over from head to foot. “No one would know you.”

  “I’ve wished that many times.”

  “I have no business asking you, but you are educated and a man of manners. You were not raised on some small farm.”

  He nodded. “The war changed all that.”

  “Ah, the war, it scarred many men. My husband fought in it. He came home and his wife was dead. His children, too. He tried to drink away his trouble. But he gave that up and came to Mexico City—I met him there. He was much older than me. My father was upset when he asked to marry me.

  “He told my father he had a great hacienda in northern New Mexico. So my father sent a man with him to see this place. They did not return for two years. He wrote me many lovely letters and built this house in the meanwhile. So I came as his bride to this house with a real fountain that even my father’s rich friends did not have in their houses.”

  “Your husband was Hispanic, too?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Some by the name, but his hair was blond and he had blue eyes. He would have passed for a gringo anywhere. His father was half and his mother was Irish. She might have been the second white woman in New Mexico. She, too, was a young bride to an older man who had buried two wives and four children. He was their only heir to survive.”

  Slocum held his hand up to the high ceiling. “He built all this in two years?”

  “No, his father had started it, but he had never finished it.” She laughed. “I can recall how worried I was down in Mexico City, about him and what I would move to—but when you are young, you can manage with less, huh?”

  He nodded.

  There was commotion in the kitchen. Perla rose and frowned. He did the same, and saw Jolanda come in the room drying her hands on a towel.

  “Señora, Benny is here. He said this morning some men have stolen several of the mares from the herd.”

  “I am coming,” Perla said.

  “Count me in,” said Slocum. “They may be leftover men from Booster gang taking anything they can sell.”

  In the kitchen, the young Mexican looked devastated, holding his sombrero in both hands. “I had no gun to stop them, Señora.”

  “You didn’t need a gun. Which way did they go?”

  “South, I think,” he said.

  “Why don’t you stay here?” Slocum said to her. “I can handle them.”

  “I am not a child,” she said sharply. “These are my horses.”

  Slocum nodded, and she turned away biting her lip as if in regret. “I know,” he said, “and they are important to you, Perla. Send Benny along with me. He knows this country and can help me drive the horses back.”

  “What—what if—” She shook her head.

  “They won’t kill me.”

  “I can’t ask you—”

  “Can’t ask me what?”

  She rushed in and hugged him, buried her face in the starched shirt. “Slocum, I lost one man. A man like you who would have fought lions bare-handed for me. I—I can’t let you.”

  He lifted her chin and looked into the wet eyes. “We’ll be back with your mares. Keep an eye out. Sims may try to swing back by here and hurt you.”

  She swallowed and stepped back. “Sorry.”

  “No, we’ll talk when I come back.”

  She fought the tears back and tried to recover her composure. “What do you need?”

  “A packhorse with some food and a bedroll for him.” He indicated Benny.

  “We can have that ready in minutes,” Jolanda said, and hurried off.

  In twenty minutes, he and the quiet young man rode out. Benny led the way. The packhorse in tow, they headed southwest. The heatless sun showed it was past noontime. That meant less than five hours till sundown, and the full moon wouldn’t rise for some time after that.

  Darkness might shut the rustlers down and they could overtake them. Those were the plans he shared with the quiet young man as they trotted their horses.

  “Can you shoot a pistol?” Slocum asked him.

  “Sí. I am not such a good aim.”

  Slocum laughed. “I have a loaded pistol in my saddlebags. You won’t shoot me?”

  “No, no.”

  “Good, you can have it when we stop again.”

  Benny nodded and they pushed on.

  They took up the rustlers’ tracks in the valley where the rest of the horses lifted up their heads at their approach.

  “That is bad country they drove the mares into.” Benny pointed to the hills ahead.

  “Good, that will slow them down.”

  The young man nodded.

  Later, they found several loose horses. Most were brood-mares heavy with foals that had been abandoned.

  “What can we do with them?” Benny asked.

  “They’ll go on home. Horses can find the way themselves.”

  He nodded, but his brown eyes looked concerned.

  “They’ll beat us back with the others. Don’t worry.”

  Slocum motioned for him to move on. The trail was hot despite the weak sun and the cold. The tracks and horse apples went over a steep pass, and when the two men reached the top, Slocum saw some horses in the valley below. He held out his hand to stop Benny.

  “Get back. They’re down in this valley. I saw some of them. They’ve made a fire. They’ll camp there.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Stay out of sight till dark, then we’ll sneak up and take them. They didn’t expect anyone to take up their tracks this soon or they’d still be driving them.”

  Benny nodded, leading his horse and the packhorse back down the hill to a flat place where they hitched all three horses. “How many are down there? I thought maybe four or five stole them.”

  “We can count ’em.” Slocum dug out the telescope. They went back up and lay on their bellies on the ridge to view the rustlers. Slocum counted four. After a look through the glass, Benny agreed on the number.

  “The full moon won’t come up till late. They’ll go to sleep. We’ll sneak down and take them.”

  “They are bad hombres, no?”

  “They won’t be with a gun in their face.”

  “I was not there, I was with the horses when those bandidos raided the ranch. They raped my wife—”

  “The señora told me who they were.”

  Benny nodded. “I have hated them for a long time for what they did to my Alicia. She has never been right since that day. Her mind is gone. It must have been very bad what they did to her.”

  “The Booster brothers are dead.”

  “Good. I hope it is very hot in hell for them.”

  “I agree. It has been very bad times. Benny, we better rest, it will be a long night.”

  “Sí.”

  Darkness covered the land. A few stars sparkled in the cold sky. Rifle in his hand, Slocum led the way. From small pine to small pine, he moved using the side of his boots to get a foothold on the face of the slope. Whiffs of wood smoke reached his nose. He could stand a good fire to warm himself.

  He glanced up as the small Mexican came after him. Benny was athletic, Slocum knew from how he could swing on a tall horse without a stirrup. Slocum’s boot loosened some small rocks, and they rolled downhill as he
stood still and listened, hoping not to wake the outlaws or warn them.

  Their descent proved to be slow. When at last they were in the bottoms, they crossed the small frozen stream. The ice cracked under their weight. Slocum wondered if it might cave in, but soon they were across it and his heart beat slower.

  The campfire was a hundred feet ahead. He sent Benny toward the horses on the left so if one of the outlaws broke and ran, he would be covered. Then, with the rifle in his gloved hands, he stepped quietly through the grassy open space.

  There were four humps under blankets in a circle around the fire. Two of them snored loudly. Slocum laid his rifle down, drew his Colt, and squatted by the first sleeper. He stuck a finger to the man’s lips and put the gun muzzle in his face.

  “Get up slow. No tricks. No sound,” Slocum whispered.

  The man obeyed and rose with his arms high. With him in view, Slocum did the same to the next one. He clapped his left hand over the man’s protest.

  “Shut up,” Slocum hissed, and the wide-eyed older man obeyed and joined his buddy.

  Benny came over and held the .44 on them.

  “Huh?” the next one grunted, sitting up.

  “Shut up. Get out here.” Slocum saw him move under the covers and knew he had a pistol.

  The .44 in Slocum’s fist sent an orange flare out of the muzzle and made an ear-shattering blast. The man’s shot was muffled by the blankets, and he fell back from the lead that struck his face like a thud on a watermelon. Slocum moved swiftly to the next man and kicked the gun he tried to produce from under his covers out of his hand.

  “Get out here or die.”

  “I’m—I’m coming. Who the fuck are you, the damn law?”

  “No,” Slocum said. “We’re the husbands of the women that you raped at the ranch.”

  “Aw, hell. We was just having fun.”

  “How would he know your wife?” Slocum asked Benny.

  “They stole her necklace. It was made of hammered dimes.”

  The man who Slocum’d gotten out of bed last shook his head. “Not me.”

  Slocum looked at the other two for their answer. They shook their heads, too.